


I've Got You Under My Skin

by houdini74



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22987912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74
Summary: Patrick is stuck in his relationship with Rachel. David is stuck in Schitt's Creek, working at Blouse Barn. Both of them wish they were anywhere else.Fic is done, I’ll post a chapter each morning.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 95
Kudos: 309





	1. Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> This is roughly set in late S2/early S3, but I've altered some of the timeline to fit what I wanted. After all, if Dan Levy has taught us anything, it's that the timeline is made up and dates don't matter.
> 
> Thanks to Pants for their help in making this fic better. Rated T for language and a couple of suggestive scenes. Title is from the song by Cole Porter.

This fight is their worst one yet. Patrick knows he should have told Rachel that the final game of the season had been moved to Saturday before she’d made other plans, but he’d forgotten and here they are, with her yelling that he keeps everything to himself and him insisting that she never pays attention to the things that are important to him.

Neither is true. Or at least neither is the entire truth. And neither is why they’re fighting. He misses what they’d had in the first years of their relationship when it seemed like they were friends first and everything else second. Now, it feels like they’re neither, like they’re going through the motions. Motions he hates more and more every day.

“I’m going out.” Rachel pulls her coat out of the closet, a furious look on her face.

“Rach…” But she’s already closing the door behind her.

He waits up well past his usual bedtime but she doesn’t come back. It’s hours later when he hears her key in the lock. He’s not asleep, but he pretends when she comes into the bedroom, not wanting to drag things back up in the middle of the night. He stares at the ceiling, hating everything about his life. 

He’s still awake long after Rachel’s breathing has evened out. He can’t do this anymore. He can’t keep pretending that everything is okay. But he can’t...he doesn’t know what to do. He’s tried to change things and end things so many times in so many ways but here he is. His parents would be so disappointed. Or so understanding. Either option feels like a knife to the gut. 

_I’d give everything to just be somewhere else_ , he thinks as he tosses and turns before finally falling asleep.

***

This fucking town. 

David has done the best he can, with his family, with Blouse Barn, with the townies he sees every day at the cafe and the general store. He still hates it with every fibre of his being. 

Most days, he can push the feeling away, but at night it creeps in, smothering him as he lies in bed listening to the little snuffle that Alexis makes in her sleep. It’s not quite a snore and most nights it’s just another background noise but sometimes, like tonight, it crawls under his skin like sandpaper. 

It’s not all bad. Stevie is here. Her prickly, unexpected friendship has seen him through many nights like this. And he knows where his sister is, a gift he hasn’t had since she was twelve years old. Still, it’s times like these when the hunger for his old life, or at least the good parts of his old life, becomes too much, leaving him lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

He’d tried and failed to escape but a lack of money had left him stranded scant miles from town. He can’t leave and he resents it beyond measure. Mostly he pushes the longing for his past life away, but it’s still there, eating at him, taunting him with the knowledge that something better is out there, just out of reach. 

_God, I wish I were somewhere else_ , he thinks as he finally falls asleep.

***

Patrick rolls over and nearly falls out of the tiny bed. He comes awake instantly. Something is wrong. When he’d gone to sleep last night, he’d been tucked into his side of the queen bed he shares with Rachel, but this bed is barely big enough for a grown man and there’s no sign of his girlfriend. 

He paws at the covers and sits up, trying to get his bearings. From the other bed, a woman’s voice mumbles at him. “Stop it, David.” Wait, what other bed? And who’s David? And why is he sharing this room with a strange woman? His heart pounds in his ears. He sits up and fumbles on the nightstand, trying to be quiet, hoping to find his cell phone. There is a phone, but when he presses the button, the photo on the lock screen is of an orchard full of cherry blossoms. It’s not his phone. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing as the panic rises inside him. He checks the phone again. The same picture stares back at him. It’s five in the morning. His hands clench in the sheets; they’re softer than he’s used to. The woman in the other bed makes a quiet snuffling sound as she rolls over. He freezes, thoughts racing, desperately hoping she doesn’t wake up. He lays back down as quietly as he can and stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out where he is and what’s happening. Beside him, the woman lets out a soft snore.

Okay. He needs to take stock of things, to get a handle on this situation.

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe out.

His body feels bigger and heavier than he’s used to. He runs his hands over his chest. And hairier. He pats the top of his head gingerly, his hair is longer and straighter, different from the short haircut he gets to keep his curls under control. This isn’t his body. Or his apartment. Or his life. 

Oh god. Okay. Okay. Maybe if he just— Or what if— Or how about— His thoughts are racing in incoherent circles. His clenches his teeth as his stomach churns, forcing back the panic that’s threatening to overtake him. This must be some sort of practical joke or a dream. A dream. It must be a dream. Wake up, wake up, wake up. He pinches his arm, his much hairier arm, but nothing happens except now his arm hurts. Not a dream then. The woman in the other bed snuffles again.

Oh.

Okay.

Okay. This is fine.

This is fine. 

He can figure this out. He just needs to think through all the options. If he’s not dreaming then maybe he’s fallen victim to a science experiment. Or space aliens. Or… _Stop it, this is ridiculous._ He tries to force his thoughts to settle, but the fear rises inside him. Maybe he’s going crazy. Maybe it’s a hallucination. Maybe there was something in the pasta salad he’d had for lunch yesterday. Rachel always said that sandwich place was a drug front, maybe she was right. He closes his eyes, trying to force his brain to cooperate. 

It doesn’t feel like a hallucination. Not that he’s every hallucinated before. He’s smoked pot, but it never made him hallucinate. He pinches his arm again. Nothing changes except his arm hurts even more. 

Okay.

This might be real.

He might be in someone else’s body.

Okay.

He can figure this out. He can come up with a plan.

Everything’s fine.

No.

No.

Nothing’s fine.

What if nothing is ever fine again?

What if he’s stuck like this?

Okay. 

Okay.

Calm down.

He needs a plan.

He’ll just lie here until morning and then he’ll find a car, this person must have a car, he’ll find a car and he’ll drive home, however far away that is and he'll find this person who has his body and they’ll do...something...okay, he’s not too clear on that part but he’ll figure it out and they’ll do something and he’ll get his body and his life back and he can go back to the job he hates and the girlfriend he’s not sure he loves, but thinks he does, he should love her, he wants to love her, he’ll go back to Rachel and…

…

Or…

Or… 

...or he could wait. He could wait and see what happens, here in this other life. He’ll have to go back eventually, he knows that, he can’t just steal someone’s body, but maybe he can just borrow it, just for a little while? Just until he figures things out. 

A list. He needs to make a list. He wishes he could make a spreadsheet, but it’s dark out, so he lies in the small bed, looking up at the ceiling and trying to organize his thoughts.

One. Figure out what happened.

Does some other person have his body? Is some other person waking up next to Rachel? He and Rachel have been together for so long that the idea that someone else could be in his bed, wishing her ‘good morning’ seems unfathomable. Should he feel jealous? Mostly he just hopes she doesn’t find out. He can’t think of any explanation that would make Rachel feel okay about knowing she was sharing a bed with someone else. But if he’s here then it seems logical that if he’s in this body that this person must be in his body. He laughs to himself. Nothing about this is logical. 

Two. Figure out who and where he is.

It’s light enough now that he can make out some features of the room. It’s a motel room, worn and dated, with two twin beds. He can just see a lump under the covers of the second bed that must belong to the woman who’d called him David. At least he has a name. Not that it’s much to go on. David must be one of the most common names in Canada. 

Three. Figure out how to get back.

Oh, god. How is he going to get back? He doesn’t even know how this happened. How can he possibly fix it? He might be stuck here forev— 

Without warning, the door to the adjoining room bursts open and the light is switched on. A striking older couple strides into the room. “Morning, kids!” _Kids?_ Is he sharing this room with his family? Perhaps they’re on vacation? A quick look around the room confirms that it’s too well lived in to be a vacation stopover. He pulls his attention back to the couple.

The woman has green hair and her black and white outfit is accented by a pair of metal gauntlets. The chain around her neck could double as a security chain for a padlock. The man claps his hands together. He’s wearing an expensive suit and he looks vaguely familiar. “Who’s ready for a family breakfast at the cafe?”

“I thought we agreed that breakfast was at ten o’clock.” The woman in the bed beside him pokes her head out of the covers. Her blonde hair is disheveled, but she’s still beautiful. He should feel attracted to her, but she’s not really his type.

“Oh, Alexis, that was before David had to get to work.”

“Well, c’mon. Kids, Moira, breakfast in half an hour.” At least he has some names for the other members of David’s family.

“Half an hour!” Alexis protests as she throws off the covers. Seeing an unknown woman in sleepwear emerge from the bed beside him makes him feel awkward, and he pulls the covers more tightly around him. “We can’t be ready in half an hour!”

“David, are you all right?” The older woman ( _Moira? Mom?_ ) looks at him carefully as she leaves the room. “You’re not making your usual protestations.”

“Fine. Sure. Half an hour.” He can get ready in half an hour. Alexis has already shut herself in the bathroom, but surely he can throw on some clothes and brush his teeth by then. He slides out of bed, pulling on the soft black boots that are sitting by the bed. 

He stands in front of the mirror on the far side of the room. He’s wearing a white t-shirt with ‘DON’T’ written across the front in black block letters. Dark, piercing eyes framed by black eyebrows stare back at his reflection. This body is taller, better looking. His hair, David’s hair, juts out in multiple directions. He tugs at it, as though he could take off this body like a suit of clothes. He has hair now, hair that needs to be styled. He pokes at his cheek with one finger. The skin is soft and stubbly, both like and unlike his own. With a groan, he rubs his hands over his face, hoping that will make things go back to normal. The dark eyes are still there when he drops his hands. 

Clothes first. He wants to be dressed before Alexis comes out of the bathroom. He opens the closet, only to be confronted by a sea of black and white outfits. He flips through the soft fabrics, past a wool poncho and something that looks like a grey tent. Finally, near the back, he finds a black long-sleeved button-up shirt. It’s patterned all over with white roses and is nothing close to his usual style, but it will have to do. He pulls on the shirt and looks for pants to go with it. In the dresser he finds a selection of skinny jeans, most of which are ripped at the knees, and a selection of skirted pants that he doesn’t understand. He opts for a pair of jeans. Whoever David is, he lives his life much more loudly than Patrick ever has. 

The thought catches him like a blow. He’s lived his life caught in a trap of his own making, built from a rickety selection of other people’s expectations and carefully compiled spreadsheets. No one in this room will expect him to marry Rachel because they’re such a perfect fit or tell him he must love his job because of its retirement package. He slumps onto the end of the bed, designer jeans clutched in his hands as relief cascades through him. He’ll probably wake up tomorrow back in his own life, but for this brief moment he wants to savour the feeling of freedom that comes from not having to be the person everyone expects him to be.

He goes back to the mirror, staring at his hair. He’s not even sure where to start. He runs his fingers through it, trying to make the soft strands go in the same direction. It’s standing straight up now, which might be an improvement. He’s not sure. He shouldn’t be worrying about his hair, he has more important things to think about. But David looks like someone who worries about his hair. If he doesn’t worry about it, surely someone will notice. He runs his hands through it again, trying to make it cooperate. On the bed behind him the phone buzzes with a text message. He picks it up; the message is from his own number.

(212) 555-0934  
  
**Friday** 8:15 AM  
Is anyone there?  
  


***

Waking up next to a strange woman isn’t a new experience for David, nor is being unable to remember how he got there. But everything becomes very different when the redhead next to him rolls over. “Morning, Patrick.”

“Morning.” He’s about to correct her when he sees his hand. The nails are short and blunt and haven’t seen proper care in months, if not forever. There are callouses _callouses_ on his fingers. He stares at his hand in horror. It’s not his hand. His fingers are longer, his nails neatly trimmed, his cuticles well-moisturized. This person’s hand looks like the hand of someone who has done things outside, like yardwork or sportsball. He shakes his fingers, hoping they might shift and change but nothing happens.

“Everything okay?” The woman looks at his hand as he shakes out his fingers. He nods furiously, forcing his hand to be still. “Okay. I’m going to make breakfast.” The woman slides out of bed. There’s a phone on his nightstand. He picks it up, when he presses the button, a photo of the woman and a man with chestnut-brown hair appears. They’re standing, arms around each other, on someone’s doorstep. She’s beaming; he looks a little more contained. David turns on the camera so he can see himself. The body he’s used to, the one he’s lived in for the past 35 years, is gone, replaced by the man he sees in the photo. 

What the fuck.

He shakes out his hand again, willing it to change back. He throws back the covers. He’s wearing a t-shirt and plaid sleep pants. Plaid. He stares at the poly-cotton blend in horror before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. This mattress is so soft. It’s the softest thing he’s slept on in over a year. It’s not as nice as the one he had in his apartment in New York, but still. He pushes the heels of his hands into the foam on top. Maybe this isn’t all bad. No. He can’t get distracted before he knows what’s happening.

He paces around the room. He’s shaking both hands now, as though he can force his body to change back. There’s a mirror hanging on the closet door, he careens to a stop in front of it. Short reddish brown hair, warm brown eyes, pale skin. Who is this person?

His heart is racing, like that time he had to go see Ted. Maybe he should do some yoga, that helped last time. That’s stupid, he can’t yoga himself out of whatever is happening here. At least this other person has nice skin. Cautiously, he pats at the face and the person in the mirror copies him. 

Oh god. Is someone in his body? Some stranger, who will never be able to follow his nine step skincare routine or know when to rotate his sweaters out of storage? Someone who will wear the same outfit three days in a row? Someone who shops at The Bay? Or Work World? A shudder runs through David’s body. The man’s hair is so short that he probably doesn’t style it at all, just lets it air dry out of the shower. 

Maybe Twyla accidentally slipped something in his food. If anyone in Schitt’s Creek has access to strange substances, it would be Twyla. Maybe he can just sleep it off and everything will be okay.

Nothing about this is okay.

Nothing has been less okay since the day they’d been forced to move to Schitt’s Creek. He stares at the man in the mirror again. This is worse than that time Sebastien had taken those photographs. Worse than the bad drug trip when he’d wound up in Budapest without his passport. Even worse than the time he’d gone four days without sleeping and had made the mistake of purchasing the entire line of Juicy track suits.

He can’t stay here. He needs to do something. 

He needs to leave.

There must be some way to get back to Schitt’s Creek.

Wait. Why does he want to go back to Schitt’s Creek?

For two years he’s longed to escape and now, here he is.

Wherever he is, this is the furthest from Schitt’s Creek that he’s been in months. He can eat food that isn’t prepared at the cafe and talk to people who aren’t Roland or his family. He could maybe go to an art gallery. He casts his eyes around the bedroom. Beige walls rise from the beige carpet. Turquoise curtains frame the large window. Across from the bed, a watercolor painting hangs on the wall, an inexpertly painted landscape, probably done by a family member. Art galleries might be out of the question. But still. He’s grateful for any chance to escape his current life, no matter how mundane or temporary. 

He opens the messaging app and sends a text to his own number.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:15 AM  
Is anyone there?  
  


There’s a long pause. Finally, the three little dots appear below his message.

(654) 555-2715  
  
**Friday** 8:20 AM  
Is this David?  
  
Yes. Are you Patrick?  
  
Yes.  
  


A wash of relief surges through him. At least someone else is in this mess with him and his body hasn’t died or vanished or something equally sinister. He opens Patrick’s closet, looking for something to wear. Everything in the closet is blue. Blue button-up shirts, blue sweaters, blue t-shirts, blue jeans. He stares at the clothes, searching for some variation, but they might as well be identical. Of course he’d end up sharing the life of someone who dresses like a youth pastor. The phone buzzes again.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:21 AM  
What the hell happened?  
  


He thinks back to the night before, about wishing he was somewhere else as he fell asleep. It’s something that he wishes for so frequently that it seems like it must be a coincidence. He closes his eyes and wishes for different clothes to appear in the closet in front of him. Nothing.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:22 AM  
I wished I was somewhere else and now I am?  
  


There’s a long pause before Patrick’s response appears. David pulls a random sweater and a pair of jeans out of the closet. It probably doesn’t matter what he chooses; all the choices look the same. He can’t remember the last time he’s spent so little time thinking about what clothes he should wear.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:24 AM  
I wished the same thing.  
  
We have a lot to talk about. But first, I need you to answer a question.  
  
Okay?  
  
What the fuck do you do with your hair?  
  


He sends Patrick detailed instructions even as he tries not to imagine what a person with a near military length haircut and a closet full of mid-range, identical clothes will do to his hair. He pulls on Patrick’s clothes. The jeans are tighter than he expects; he has to shimmy his hips to get them on. The close fit makes him reassess his assumptions about Patrick. Most people wouldn’t wear jeans this tight unless they want to be noticed.

“Patrick?” The woman’s voice rings out from down the hall. Before she comes back into the room, he dashes off a quick text to Patrick.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:45 AM  
What’s your girlfriend’s name?  
  


The woman appears in the doorway. “I made pancakes. Are you having breakfast?” He nods and runs his hand over his short hair. It doesn’t make any difference, his hairstyle remains the same. The phone buzzes in his hand. “Who are you texting?”

“My, uh, mom?” He hopes that Patrick isn’t an orphan. Or that he’s not estranged from his parents. 

Thankfully, the woman nods at him. “About the barbecue tonight? I already texted her.” A barbecue? With Patrick’s family? He forces his face into a neutral expression, trying to disguise his panic.

“She, uh, wanted to make sure I didn’t forget.” The woman gives him a funny look but she disappears back down the hall. He checks Patrick’s text.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:46 AM  
Her name is Rachel.  
  


***

Between David’s overly detailed instructions and a couple of selfies he finds on David’s phone, Patrick thinks he’s styled David’s hair into something that won’t result in too many questions. He pulls on the jeans, which turn out to be even tighter than he thought, when David’s phone buzzes again.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:45 AM  
What’s your girlfriend’s name?  
  


He’s forgotten about Rachel. Rachel—who has been part of his life since he was twelve and his girlfriend since he was sixteen, the person who he confides in—is someone he’s forgotten about entirely during what is probably the strangest experience of his life. He’s spent half his life with Rachel and all he feels is relief that he doesn’t have to think about why things aren’t working between them anymore. The guilt that greets him is unwelcome and familiar. It’s the same guilt he feels when he thinks about how he isn’t attracted to her the way he should be, the same guilt he has when he feels like he’s wasting her time, like she deserves someone better.

He runs his hands down the front of his body. In the mirror, the shirt clings to his body in a way that his own clothes never do, the fabric is soft against his skin. David’s dark eyes follow the movement and he’s caught by the feeling of his own hands on his body. David is hot. He’s someone who stands out, the kind of guy that anyone would take a second look at on the street. 

He sinks down on the end of the bed. He can’t stay here, pretending to be someone else. Rachel deserves better than that. What if he’s stuck like this? What if this is who he is now? What if he’s someone with hair products and black and white sweaters who lives in a motel room with his sister?

He needs to make a plan. He wishes he had a spreadsheet or even his daytimer. He casts his eyes around the room, looking for anything that might be helpful. On the nightstand beside his bed he sees a black-bound journal. Sitting on top of that are four silver rings. He’s never worn jewelry before. He picks up the largest ring and slides it onto the middle finger of his right hand. It feels heavy and cold against his skin, but it makes him feel powerful, like donning a tiny piece of armor. 

Back in front of the mirror, he crosses and uncrosses his arms, trying to find a position that feels comfortable. Between the strangeness of the black and white clothes, his hair and the rings, he feels like an impostor, but a jolt of excitement spreads through him. Maybe this is a chance to be someone else for a while, to cast aside the things about his life that have never felt right. He tugs at the hem of his shirt, David’s body is looser, the knot of tension that normally lives between his shoulder blades is gone. Maybe someone else’s life will be a better fit. It’s just like taking on a role in a play, he’s done that before, he can do this. 

He doesn’t have time to think about it further, the door to the bathroom bursts open and Alexis strides into the room. “Is that the shirt you’re wearing?”

“Yeah, uh why?” Is there something wrong with this shirt? He can tell it’s higher quality than the shirts he usually wears. It was at the back of the closet. Maybe it’s stained or torn or…

“It’s just you seem to like wearing sweaters more these days.” Alexis checks her phone. “Ugh, you better hurry, David. We have to leave in five minutes and you know it always takes you at least fifteen minutes for your morning skincare routine.” 

Wondering how it could take David fifteen minutes to wash his face, he steps inside the small bathroom, only to be confronted with an array of men’s skincare products. Gingerly, he picks up one of the bottles. _Daily Microfoliant_ He sets it back down and picks up the next one. _Polypeptide Moisturizer_ Huh. Well, David’s skin will have to survive one morning without its usual pampering. He searches through the products for a toothbrush, finally finding a pair of them tucked behind a tube of hair gel. Crossing his fingers, he chooses the bright red one over the purple one. 

Normally, starting his day without a plan or even the faintest idea of what might unfold would make him nervous but he’s excited to see what might happen. He grins around the toothbrush, almost accustomed to David’s black eyes looking back at him. He finishes in the bathroom, tugging at the cuffs of David’s shirt, trying to feel comfortable in this new skin. As he opens the door, the phone buzzes in his hand.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:49 AM  
Don’t talk to Stevie.  
  


***

David follows the scent of pancakes to the kitchen. Rachel sets a plate in front of him. They look perfect, golden brown, with butter melting in the middle. He can’t remember the last time he ate at a table other than the one at the cafe. If he only had a cup of coffee. Sitting beside his plate is a mug of tea, perfectly steeped. He stares at it for a moment, pressing his lips together. He takes a cautious sip and tries not to make a face as the taste of peppermint floods his mouth.

Rachel is staring intently at her own plate as though the precision of each bite requires the same level of concentration that he usually associates with accountants or architects. He frowns at her before he takes a bite of his own breakfast. The pancakes might be the best he’s ever had; they melt on his tongue. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it with an almost audible snap as Rachel continues to avoid his gaze.

Silence hovers over the table, thick and heavy. He’s no stranger to cold shoulders and tense mornings, but he didn’t expect to find that here, in this tastefully decorated, if slightly clichéd, apartment. He swallows his pancakes and glances at Rachel. 

“What, um...what are you doing today?” Any hopes he has that the question will relieve the tension are dashed when Rachel gives him an angry, puzzled look.

“Work. And then to your parents for the barbecue.” Her voice is short and clipped, she drops her eyes almost immediately. The corners of her mouth are tucked in unhappily. 

If this was his own relationship, he would have gathered his things and been out the door before breakfast even started. But it’s not. He can’t walk out on someone else’s life, no matter how unhappy it seems. “Right. And what time…?” 

“Six. I thought you were texting your mom?” He’s pretty sure they aren’t fighting about the barbecue or Patrick’s parents, but he doesn’t know how to navigate from here.

“Yeah, I was, yeah.” The heavy silence returns. He stares at his plate and takes another bite.

“Listen Patrick, I’m sorry about last night.” He wants to sigh with relief. Maybe he can figure out why Rachel is so angry. She plays with her fork. It makes a clinking noise as she rattles it on her plate. “If you want to play hockey with the guys tomorrow night, that’s fine with me.”

Hockey? On ice? With skates and sports clubs and projectiles flying in a thousand directions? The odds of David putting even his baby toe onto the ice to play hockey were somewhere less than zero. Desperate for an out, he scrambles for an excuse. “No, you were right, we should spend more time together. I’ll go to the next game.”

“It’s the finals.” She sounds confused. “I know you don’t want to miss it.”

“It’s fine. There’s always next year.” He flashes a happy smile at her. Instantly, he knows it was a mistake, her frown deepens. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting weird all morning.” 

“Fine, just tired, I guess.” He waves Patrick’s hand through the air. It looks naked without his rings. 

“Okay, well, I’m going to go to work.” Rachel pushes back her chair and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. She gathers some things from the other room. Moments later, he hears the apartment door close behind her. He clears the table and puts the dishes in the dishwasher before pacing around the tiny living room. 

Patrick’s body moves differently than his. His strides are shorter, there’s a compact energy to his body that make David feel like he could spring into motion, like one of those jaguars he’s seen on TV, the ones that look placid before they chase down an unsuspecting gazelle. There’s a tension that’s different, a knot in the middle of his back that makes him roll his shoulders. 

Patrick probably has a job to go to. Judging by his wardrobe, he’s probably an accountant or a computer technician or an insurance salesman. Something that involves spreadsheets. There’s a leather portfolio case on the coffee table. He opens it and pulls out a business card. _Patrick Brewer, Business Consultant_ What the fuck does that mean? According to the business card, he’s in Thunder Bay. He’s never been to Thunder Bay, he doesn’t know anything about Thunder Bay, except it’s a hell of a long way from Schitt’s Creek. With a groan, he puts his hands over his face.

If he were back in Schitt’s Creek, he’d be at the cafe, eating breakfast and waiting for Stevie to give him a ride to the Blouse Barn. _Oh, fuck. Stevie._ Stevie will figure out that something’s wrong in about two seconds. Patrick can’t talk to Stevie. Frantically, he sends a text.

David  
  
**Friday** 9:44 AM  
Don’t talk to Stevie.  
  


***

Patrick contemplates David’s message on the short walk to the cafe. Alexis and Moira teeter across the uneven ground. To his eye, their high heels are exceeding impractical, but his current clothing choices don’t leave him much room to comment. Who is Stevie? He gnaws on the question as they saunter along, a collection of finely groomed peacocks, well out of their natural habitat.

The cafe is so outdated and garishly decorated that he immediately feels at home. It reminds him of his grandmother’s living room, filled with tropical knickknacks and 1950s era furniture. Alexis pushes at him when he opens the unnecessarily large menu, he tries to pull back into his own space, only to have her thrust the corner of her own menu into his face. He narrows his eyes at her and she raises an eyebrow as a silent challenge. Is it normal for 30-year-old siblings to tussle over menus in a restaurant booth? He’s an only child, he has no frame of reference for sibling rivalry. Cautiously, he shoves against Alexis’s arm and before he can apply any pressure she’s pushing back.

“Stop it, David.” 

“Now kids, surely it’s too early in the morning for such puerile shenanigans.” Moira peers at them over the top of her own menu.

Before the waitress can return to take their order, a dark-haired woman in a plaid shirt comes to an abrupt stop beside their booth. “David, what are you doing? I told you we had to leave early today because I have that thing in Elm Grove.”

“Stevie, dear, are you sure you won’t join us for our morning collation?” Moira looks inquiringly at the woman. 

Stevie. Patrick’s heart drops. This was the person David had warned him about. Clearly, she expects him to go somewhere with her. 

“Not today. I have an appointment and David needs a ride to work.” Stevie looks back at him. “C’mon. Twyla can get you a muffin, you can eat it in the car.”

“That’s…”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Incorrect. I know.” He’d been going to say that he didn’t need breakfast, but he pushes gently at Alexis, hoping she’ll move out of the way so he can leave the booth. She huffs at him, but moves aside. Stevie frowns at him even as she gestures to the waitress. 

He gets in the car with Stevie. She’s driving him somewhere. To work, she’d said. Patrick wonders where someone like David Rose works. At an art gallery, maybe. Or as a fashion designer. This small town, with its single stop sign and three slightly rundown businesses doesn’t seem like it’s the center of the art or fashion world. To his surprise, Stevie pulls into the parking lot of the motel.

“Why are we here?” Surely someone would have mentioned if David worked at the motel. 

Stevie narrows her eyes at him. “Are you okay?”

Fuck. Stevie’s gaze is impenetrable. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you forgot your bag, and we all know how worked up you get if you don’t have your second sweater.” 

“Oh, yeah, right.” He fumbles with the seatbelt for a moment before hurrying into the motel. A black leather bag sits across from his bed. He grabs a sweater at random from the cedar chest. The journal is sitting on his nightstand. He picks it up and sticks it in the bag. 

He gets back in the car. Stevie sits there, her hands on the steering wheel, fingers tapping softly. “What’s going on?” She turns to look at him, her black eyes pin him in place, like the insects he’d seen at the museum when he was little. 

“What do you mean?” He’s trying for casual, but he can tell he’s missed the mark.

“I know you better than anyone in this town. I know how you talk, I know how you move, I know how you arrange your sweaters, I even know how you think. But if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you aren’t David Rose.” Her eyes haven’t left his face. He feels like a second-grader, caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “So, what’s going on?”

“Uh…” He should have taken David’s advice and done everything he could to avoid Stevie. But it’s too late now. He clenches his hands together, the silver rings flash in the sunlight. “Uh, my name’s Patrick. I’m a business consultant from Thunder Bay. I woke up in David’s body this morning.”

Instead of shock or horror or any of the other responses he expects, a look of absolute glee crosses Stevie’s face. “And he’s in your body?”

“Yeah.” 

She cackles, there’s no other word for it, and finally starts the car. “You’re a business consultant? This is going to be the best thing ever.” She chuckles to herself. “A business consultant!”

His phone buzzes in his pocket. There’s a text from David.

David  
  
**Friday** 10:17 AM  
WTF even is your job?  
  


“Is that David?” He nods, distracted by the idea of David working at his computer, accessing his email. “Send him my warmest regards.” She cackles again, her eyes on the road.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 10:18 AM  
Stevie sends her warmest regards  
  
I told you not to talk to Stevie!  
  
Well, you didn’t tell me she was your ride to work  
  
You should have walked  
  
Okay, David  
  


Is David always this dramatic? For the first time in the longest time, something warm bubbles under his skin. He laughs to himself, wishing he could see David’s face to read his expression.

***

David makes it to Patrick’s office. Fortunately, the office is small and Patrick’s name is spelled out on a brass plaque on the door. Patrick’s job appears to be to tell people what’s wrong with their business ideas. So he corrects a woman who wants to open a clothing store for dogs and offers feedback on flavor combinations to a man who plans to open an ice cream shop. Both of his clients seem taken aback at his advice, but he figures it’s probably because they need so much help with their ideas. Maybe he should have gone into business consulting; it’s fun giving advice to people. 

Patrick texts him about Stevie but before he can come undone thinking about the damage she might do, Rachel texts him with a reminder to pick up his dad’s favorite beer on his way home from work.

David  
  
**Friday** 10:38 AM  
What kind of beer should I buy for your dad?  
  
Why are you buying beer for my dad?  
  
Your parents are having a barbecue?  
  


There’s no response. He can tell Patrick has read his message, but there aren’t even three little dots showing that he’s writing something. Maybe Patrick’s parents are serial killers. Or they belong to a cult. Or they’re trained police profilers who can tell he’s lying as soon as they see him. He opens Patrick’s email, hoping for a distraction. All the emails have attachments that look like legal agreements and loan documents. He closes the email again. Patrick’s clients will have to wait until Monday. Finally, his phone buzzes.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 10:49 AM  
Buy him Sleeman Honey Brown  
  


Patrick’s response makes it real. He’s living someone else’s life, pretending to be part of their family. The sense of amusement that he’d had about the situation fades away.

David  
  
**Friday** 10:52 AM  
Is it okay? Me going to this barbecue  
  
I don’t think you have a choice  
  
Neither of us do  
  


Patrick’s family probably aren’t serial killers or cultists or profilers. They’re probably perfectly normal people who will notice that their son is not the same person he was the day before. Not like David’s family who wouldn’t notice if he grew antlers out of his head as long as he didn’t damage anything.

David  
  
**Friday** 10:4 AM  
I don’t want to mess things up for you  
  


There’s another pause. Maybe he can say he’s sick. Food poisoning. He’s preparing his cover story when Patrick texts him back.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 10:55 AM  
My life is already a mess. I doubt you could make it worse  
  


He finds that almost impossible to believe. Patrick lives in a nice apartment with his cute girlfriend and his decent job. In David’s experience, a messy life is filled with drugs and parties and people who would walk over his unconscious body for another hit of whatever is on offer.

Dvid  
  
**Friday** 10:56 AM  
Really?  
  


This time, Patrick’s response comes right away, as though he was hoping David would ask. As though he wants to talk about it.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 10:57 AM  
I’ve never said that to anyone before. But yeah. Your life has made me realize that I don’t really like my life.  
  


Suddenly, he’s worried. Does Patrick not want to get back to his own body? Is he going to have to learn how to be a business consultant for real? Will he never wear anything except blue button-down shirts? He tries not to think about the fact that he might never see Alexis or Stevie again.

David  
  
**Friday** 10:58 AM  
What are you saying?  
  
Nothing, I guess. You’ve just given me a lot to think about.  
  


There’s no way to know what Patrick really means.

David  
  
**Friday** 11:01 AM  
I think we should meet.  
  
How are we going to do that?  
  
I could get a flight  
  
I’m pretty sure Rachel will notice if you disappear  
  
You don’t want to meet?  
  
I do  
  
I just don’t know how to make that happen  
  
Okay  
  
I have to go, my lunch break is over  
  


He’s uneasy about Patrick’s reluctance to meet. What if Patrick likes his life better than his own? What if he doesn’t even want to fix things? Not that they have any idea how to make things go back to normal. The worry gnaws at him. He can’t stay like this, but he doesn’t entirely want to go back either.

Despite his worries, he grins to himself at the idea of Patrick working at the Blouse Barn. From what he’s seen of Patrick’s life, he doesn’t seem like someone who knows anything about women’s fashion, even the fashion that Wendy sells. His smile fades a little as he looks at Patrick’s desk with its neat stacks of carefully numbered file folders. He pushes up the sleeves of his blue sweater. He’s been pushing them up and pulling them back down all morning, unable to decide what feels more comfortable. 

As always, the anxiety comes out of nowhere. He can’t stay here, pretending to be a business major, locked in an unhappy relationship, living as someone else’s son. It doesn’t matter how good Rachel’s pancakes are or how soft Patrick’s bed is, he can only keep up this charade for so long. He rests his forehead on the cool surface of the desk. He’s never been good at pretending. It’s part of the reason none of his relationships last. Once people find out that what they see is what they get, they typically lose interest. His pulse is pounding in his throat. He focuses on his breathing, trying not to think about all the places he doesn’t belong.

***

Stevie drops Patrick off at work with a reminder she’ll be back at five o’clock to pick him up. He’d hoped she would give him some information about David’s life, but when he asked, she just laughed and said that it will be more fun for her if he figures things out on his own. He can’t decide if he likes her or not.

He’s always thought of himself as someone who likes things to be structured, who moves through life with a plan and a destination pre-charted. But not being able to see where he’s going for the first time in his life is freeing, like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. He thinks about the ring box that’s hidden in the bottom of his work bag. Buying it had been the most stressful moment of his life. Was it the right ring? Would Rachel say yes? Did he want her to? The thought of marrying her makes every muscle in his body tense. It’s taken less than twelve hours in someone else’s body to know that it would be a mistake he can never remedy. 

The Blouse Barn both is and isn’t what Patrick expects. The name and location and clientele remind him of a store that his mom might shop at, but inside he’s greeted by a selection of exclusively black-and-white clothing. He laughs to himself as he realizes what has happened. David has been here, leaving his mark on this unsuspecting store. 

His boss waves at him when he comes in, intently focused on a phone call about reward miles and Costco points. He hasn’t worked retail since his days at Rose Video in high school, but the customer service comes back to him. He fills the gaps in the morning tidying the store and pondering what other changes David has in mind.

He wonders if David knows how much of a mess Blouse Barn is. Twice he overhears Wendy making frantic, desperate phone calls about the finances of the store. He wishes he could see her financial statements. Her customer traffic is good, but he’s not sure David’s changes fit with the target market of the store. 

“David.” Wendy’s voice startles him. He’s getting better at responding to David’s name, there’s just a slight pause before he remembers to respond. “This package came for you.” Wendy gestures to a large box. 

He approaches the box with trepidation. A previous box from that morning had contained leather ponchos that were so avant garde that he couldn’t imagine even the most hardcore fashionista owning them. He opens the box and it’s filled with birds, each one sculpted from black-painted plaster. This is a clothing store, so they can’t possibly be for sale. He sets a few on the shelves in the store, not sure what he’s supposed to be doing with them. David would know, he’s sure.

Thankfully, most of the customers are looking for help finding the right sizes or different colors. Since the store only seems to carry black-and-white clothing, the answer to the latter question is straightforward. At noon, Wendy sends him for lunch. He ends up in a coffee shop down the street. Sandwich in hand, he does what he’s wanted to do since he woke up in David’s body that morning. He opens Google and searches for information about body swaps. 

Irrationally, he’d been hoping to find a news article about an outbreak of similar circumstances. What he ends up with are numerous stories about movies and soap operas. He clicks on the first result _Television’s Best Body Swaps_. He’s not sure how it will help, but at least it feels like he’s doing something. He flinches when a photo of Moira fills the screen. 

The pieces fall into place so suddenly that he’s surprised there isn’t an audible sound. David is David Rose. He’d read an article when the Rose family had lost everything, his interest piqued by his high-school tenure at Rose Video. And as a teenager, Rachel and her friends had been obsessed with Sunrise Bay. Rachel would laugh as she shared Vivian Blake’s ridiculous exploits with him. 

It doesn’t matter, although he wonders what sort of advice Moira would give him about reversing the body swap. He reads the article anyway. Maybe he should make a spreadsheet. He could catalog all the different ways to reverse a body swap and he and David could try them, one by one. Brain transplant. Wizard’s spell. A kiss. He pauses on the last one, a thrill surges through him, but David is hundreds of miles away. He pushes away the thought that if he stays in David’s body he won’t have to deal with his increasing tension with Rachel or his boring, but stable, job. 

He’s thinking about his life and David’s life when David texts him about his parents’ barbecue. It seems like hundreds of years ago that Rachel had made the arrangements with his mom. Oh god. David would have to interact with his family. He answers David’s questions, worry coursing through him about what could go wrong. They’re in this together. If anyone would understand his doubts and fears about what’s happening, it’s David. He sends the text before he can regret it.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 10:55 AM  
My life is already a mess. I doubt you could make it worse  
  


It’s true, he realizes. He has everything he always thought he wanted and he hates all of it. What would it be like to be set free from his life? To wake up and not have to worry about fitting in, about making the correct choices? To know who he wanted to be? He guesses that David has never worried about fitting in anywhere. David seems like someone who expects the world to conform to him and not the other way around. Patrick wonders how that works for him.

He texts David back and finishes his sandwich. Staring out the window of the cafe he catches sight of David’s black and white shirt. Even his ghostly reflection stands out. Maybe this is a sign that he should change his life, take a chance. Something runs through him at the thought, but he can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement.

David  
  
**Friday** 11:01 AM  
I think we should meet.  
  


It’s a good idea. It makes sense to meet, to compare notes, to see if they can find a way out of this mess. But no matter how he turns it over in his mind, he can’t make the logistics work. The Roses don’t even have a car and there’s no excuse that David could give Rachel that wouldn’t make her suspicious. Besides, deep inside a little voice tells him he’s not ready to go back. Not yet.

The rest of the afternoon passes without incident. Wendy is wrapped up in whatever financial and family drama that is consuming her. He tidies the store, helps customers find their sizes and spends most of the afternoon feeling guilty about how free he feels having been separated from his old life. Stevie picks him up at five o’clock, he follows her out to her car, chewing over the question that’s been nagging him all afternoon.

“Is David… _am I_ happy here?” Stevie gives him an ironic look over the roof of the car. She waits until they’re both in the car before she answers.

“You’ve figured out who he is, haven’t you?” He shrugs at her. She looks at him for a long moment before she continues. “It’s complicated. I don’t think he knows how happy he is. Or maybe how happy he could be.”

“Hmm.” He wonders how David feels about being dropped into his life. Is it a relief or an adventure or something worse? They need to talk. Maybe once his parents’ barbecue is over, they can have a dedicated conversation. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“You’re really trying to remind me that you’re not him, aren’t you?” With that, Stevie turns on the car and takes him back to Schitt’s Creek.

***

David can’t stop worrying at his...at Patrick’s hands. He misses his rings. Misses the tiny pieces of armor that help deflect the world and give his hands something to do at times like these. Not that there have ever been times like these before. He’d been fine for most of the day. It had been an adventure—like a play that he didn’t know the lines for. But this feels more important, weightier.

Beside him, Rachel’s hands grip the steering wheel carefully at ten and two. There’s an undercurrent of tension that he hasn’t been able to identify. It feels familiar, a reminder of too many of his past relationships. He’d always assumed that his relationships were unusually toxic and uncomfortable, but maybe this is just how relationships are. 

In a few minutes he’ll have to meet Patrick’s parents. Except they’re his parents right now. Either way, he’s never done well with parents. No one’s parents are like Johnny and Moira Rose. Other people’s parents are interested. They know things. They want to be involved and ask questions. Questions he probably won’t be able to answer. He twists his hands together again as Rachel pulls into the driveway of a house that’s so average looking it should be on the cover of _Average Houses Magazine_.

He gathers up the beer and the potato salad that Rachel made and follows her to the door. She opens the door and steps inside without knocking. Right. Patrick probably grew up here. On the walls of the entryway are a series of family photos, a little boy with curly reddish blond hair grows progressive older, his face eventually shifting into the one that his body is wearing.

“Marcy? Clint? We’re here.” Rachel calls into the house, prompting a soft flurry of activity. 

“In the kitchen.” A short, red-haired woman appears in a distant doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She hugs Rachel and presses a kiss to his cheek, somehow securing the bowl of potato salad in the same motion. It should feel awkward but it feels nice. He smiles at her shyly.

“Your dad’s in the back.” Marcy nods at the door behind her. “You can take that beer out to him so he’ll stop complaining about how we forgot to stop at the liquor store.”

In the backyard, a tall silver-haired man is standing in front of an elaborate barbecue. The grill has multiple buttons and knobs, David looks at it nervously. He’s seen commercial kitchens that were less intimidating. Clint is wearing a bright blue apron with the words _Just Brew It_ written on the front in white lettering. The pun makes him want to die even as he secretly loves it, just a little. Patrick’s family is everything he expected, the type of family he’d never believed could be real. 

“Patrick!”

He offers the case of beer and tries to relax. Clint sets the case on the picnic table and pulls out two bottles handing one back to him. Beer’s not his favorite by any means, but if he can drink the peppermint schnapps sangria at Ashley Simpson’s beach party, he can manage a bottle of beer. 

“How’s work?” Clint opens the grill and flips the burgers, the smell makes his stomach rumble. 

“Good, good.” He tells the story of the man with the ice cream shop idea, his free hand waving through the air as he talks. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re so excited about work again. I was starting to think you weren’t happy.”

“Uh, no, it’s good.” He should have guessed from his text conversation with Patrick that the other man was unhappy with his job. But there’s no going back now.

The back door opens and Marcy and Rachel join them, each of them carrying trays with dishes and sides and condiments. He takes the tray from Rachel and helps her set the table, trying not to be overly fastidious about how he places the cutlery and the napkins. 

Clint serves the burgers and everyone settles onto the picnic table. There’s shuffling and passing of ketchup and potato salad until everyone has what they want. 

“Did you watch the game yesterday?” 

“No?” He takes a large bite of his burger, hoping that might prevent any follow-up questions.

“Too bad. I thought you’d want to be there to see the Red Sox beat the Blue Jays as badly as they did.” Marcy grins at him gleefully. 

Of course Patrick’s family would be into sports. He doesn’t understand what laundry and birds have to do with each other, so he reaches for an innocuous response. “They tried their best.”

“And it just wasn’t good enough, was it?” Marcy, the same sweet woman who had hugged him at the door, snickers happily at him. “We can watch the rematch after dinner, maybe the Jays can score more than two runs this time.”

He glances at Rachel, but she deliberately avoids his eyes. “Sure, we can do that. I’m sure they’ll do better this time.” He finishes his burger and eyes the remaining burgers hopefully. Clint offers the plate and he takes another one, mumbling his thanks. 

He finishes three burgers and still has room for the pie that Marcy produces from the kitchen. As promised, Marcy forces them to watch the baseball game after dinner. He sits gingerly beside Rachel on the loveseat, not sure how she will react. To his surprise, she curls against him, her small body nestles into the crook of his arm.

The red team beats the blue team by a score of 5-3. From Marcy’s gloating, he gathers that’s not what Patrick would have wanted, so he does his best to act disappointed. “They’ll win the baseball next time.”

He’s not sure why everyone is laughing, but Marcy pats him gently on the arm. “Sure they will, honey.”

Rachel seems more relaxed on their drive home, but he still doesn’t know what’s going on. Thankfully, as soon as they get in the door to the apartment, Rachel gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and announces she’s going to bed. He pulls out his phone to text Patrick.

David  
  
**Friday** 7:55 PM  
Can we talk?  
  


***

There’s no sign of the other members of the Rose family when Patrick arrives back at the motel. With a relieved sigh he sinks down onto David’s bed, kicking his shoes off so he can lie back on the white and black comforter. David will be at his parents’ barbecue right now. The thought of it makes his stomach churn, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

It’s chilly in the room, he pulls David’s black bag towards him, the silver rings on his fingers are still a distraction even after wearing them all day. He pulls out the sweater and David’s journal tumbles onto the bedspread. He pulls on the sweater, the black material with the white horizontal stripes envelopes him, it’s warm and cozy. He picks up the journal, weighing it in one hand. 

He wants to open it. He wants to learn more about this person whose life is now intertwined with his. If he’s stuck like this, he deserves to know who David is. More than that, he’s curious. He’s curious about David Rose and the life he lives. He opens the journal. 

It’s drawings, mostly. Quick sketches of the motel, of the town. He stops for a brief second on a drawing of Stevie, the strokes of pencil capture her sardonic expression perfectly. Are they a couple? David hadn’t said anything and Stevie definitely hasn’t acted like they’re together. Just friends then. Mixed in with the drawings are short snippets of text. They aren’t long enough to truly be diary entries, more like sentences that contain David’s mood. 

_How is this my life?_ reads the first one. On the opposite side of the page is a sketch of the motel room, the opposite bed strewn with shoes and clothes.

A few pages later _I fucking hate this town_ is paired with a drawing of the cafe and the general store, David has emphasized the rundown nature of the buildings.

He flips ahead a few more pages. 

_I can’t stay here_ The words sit opposite a drawing of a dilapidated truck. 

He flips to the last drawing in the journal. It’s not finished, but he can make out the outline of store shelves, with light streaming in from large windows. _Some day_ The words are tiny, barely visible in the corner of the page.

He closes the journal, feeling vaguely guilty. He doesn’t regret learning more about David, but he feels like he’s violated his privacy. Assuming they have any privacy left. His phone buzzes with a text.

David  
  
**Friday** 7:55 PM  
Can we talk?  
  
How was the barbecue?  
  
I ate three hamburgers  
  
And two pieces of pie  
  
So much for playing it cool  
  
They were really good hamburgers!  
  


He laughs to himself and scoots down on the bed to make himself more comfortable.

David  
  
**Friday** 7:59 PM  
I really like your family  
  
Me too  
  


He misses them suddenly. Even though it’s been less than a day, it feels longer. He misses watching baseball with his mom and talking to his dad about work. And even though things are tough with Rachel, he misses how she knows everything about him and how she can make him laugh.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:01 PM  
Do you think we’re stuck like this?  
  
We better not be, I didn’t spend years curating a wardrobe of designer clothing so that someone else could wear it.  
  
So I shouldn’t wear your clothes to clean the bathroom?  
  


The silence is long and absolute and he worries that he’s pissed David off.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:07 PM  
If you knew me better, you’d know that wasn’t funny  
  
If I knew you better, I would have made that joke a long time ago  
  


It feels easy and comfortable, this back and forth. For the first time since he’d woken up that morning, he feels the tension leave his body.

Jake  
  
**Friday** 8:11 PM  
Hey handsome, wanna hook up tonight?  
  


Wait, what? Who’s Jake? Something courses through him, a low hum of anticipation from deep inside himself, from the place where he’s buried bits and pieces of who he was for years. He texts David.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:13 PM  
Who’s Jake? He wants to hook up?  
  
Oh  
  
It’s not serious. You can just tell him you’re busy  
  
Okay  
  


For a brief second he considers going to see this Jake person in David’s body, just to see how it would feel. Before he can follow that line of thought, David texts him again.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:20 PM  
How do we get out of this?  
  
I googled body swaps  
  
And?  
  
And it turns out that Vivian Blake might be the leading expert  
  
Do not ask my mom for advice!  
  


He’s glad they can laugh, that there’s someone else to share this experience with, even if it’s just by text. He pushes away the fear that they might really be stuck like this. Surely there’s a reasonable explanation and everything will eventually go back to normal? A wave of exhaustion rolls down on him as the reality of the day crashes into him. The only time he’s been able to relax has been on the drive home with Stevie. He remembers David’s warning earlier in the day.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:27 PM  
Can I trust Stevie?  
  
Yeah. She’ll laugh at you and make your life difficult, but you can trust her.  
  


He wishes there was someone in his life who he could tell David to trust. Rachel is out of the question. Things are already tense between them, revealing that a different person is in Patrick’s body will not make things better. He considers his parents but that’s not an option either. He’s chewing on his cheek, lost in thought, when David texts him again.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:32 PM  
Why is Rachel angry with you?  
  


He’d known that David would notice the tension with Rachel, but he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Rachel is his best friend, they’d copied their homework from each other in high school. He was better at math; she was better at science. When they’d moved in together after college it had seemed like the perfect extension of their relationship and their friendship. On paper, everything is perfect. The only problem is that he’s blindingly unhappy and he’s making Rachel miserable.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:34 PM  
How much time do you have?  
  
Apparently, more than you’d think  
  


Their most recent fight had been about this weekend’s hockey game. The trouble is that none of their fights are about what they seem to be. Both of them are skilled at talking about everything except what’s really bothering them. Normally when people ask about him and Rachel, he talks about how happy he is, but this situation with David gives him an opportunity to talk to someone who doesn’t think they’re a perfect couple. He sits for a minute, turning over the best way to put everything he feels into a text.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:36 PM  
Rachel is my best friend. We’ve been together for 15 years. I feel completely trapped and I can’t talk to her about it.  
  


There’s a long pause. Maybe he shouldn’t have put this on David. Maybe he should have deflected, continuing to pretend that it’s not a big deal.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:40 PM  
Okay, that’s a lot.  
  
My longest relationship lasted three months so I’m the wrong person to ask but I know that living a lie will just hurt more in the end.  
  
Yeah  
  


He knows David is right. He can’t keep dragging things out. Rachel deserves better. He deserves better.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:43 PM  
Are you cheating on her?  
  
What?  
  


He’s never considered cheating on Rachel, mostly because the thought of sleeping with another woman leaves him cold. The idea of hooking up with Jake creeps back into his mind, accompanied by a tiny flash of excitement.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:44 PM  
Sorry, that’s just what usually happens to me.  
  


David says it so casually. Patrick wonders about someone whose longest relationship is three months long and who expects to be cheated on. It makes him sad to think David expects his relationships to turn out badly. On the other hand, here he is, fifteen years into a relationship that is going through a slow-motion implosion that will probably destroy everything in its path, so who is he to judge?

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:47 PM  
No I’m not cheating  
  


Maybe he should have cheated on Rachel. Maybe it would have been a quick way to bring things to a much needed end. He can’t believe he’s thinking about this. All the feelings he’s been setting aside, about Rachel, about how nothing feels right, about the cute guy he’d noticed at the grocery store two days ago swirl inside him.

David  
  
**Friday** 8:51 PM  
I hope I didn’t overstep  
  
You didn’t  
  
I’ve been avoiding this for a long time, it feels good to talk about it  
  
Okay  
  


At that moment, the door to the motel room bursts open, revealing David’s sister. “David! Where have you been?”

“Um, here?” Damn. He’s missed something. At least the day is almost over. Maybe tomorrow he’ll wake up in his own bed.

“You missed dinner. Are you okay?” He checks the time, it’s almost nine o’clock.

“Fine. I’m just not hungry.” Alexis marches towards him, extending her hand towards his face. He leans away instinctively, unsure what she's doing.

“Now I know you’re sick.” She reaches out again, like she’s checking for a fever.

“I’m fine.” He tries to change his tone so it’s not so defensive, but Alexis doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Okay, David. But you better not get up in the middle of the night so you can rummage around and eat my food.” The phone buzzes in his hand. Before he can react, Alexis snatches it from him. “Who’s Patrick?”

“Um. He’s no one.” Even if he was at all tempted to trust Alexis, he has no idea where to begin. Besides, it’s unlikely that his real self and Alexis will ever meet.

“Well, he wants to talk more tomorrow, so he must be someone.” Alexis tosses the phone down beside him and sits on the edge of her bed, looking at him eagerly. He wishes he could ask David about his sister, but he can’t do that now.

He settles for the shortest version of the truth he can manage. “We’ve just been texting.”

“I thought you’d given up on dating apps?” He shrugs at her, hoping it will dissuade her from further conversation. It seems to work, she launches into a lengthy conversation that involves someone named Ted, Zac Ephron and Katy Perry. He nods at the appropriate places, his thoughts sliding back to David. Finally, she gets up and heads into the bathroom. He picks up the phone and opens David’s text.

David  
  
**Friday** 9:06 PM  
Can we talk more tomorrow?  
  
We can talk whenever you like  
  
Goodnight, David  
  
Goodnight, Patrick  
  



	2. Interlude

David  
  
**Saturday** 11:13 AM  
Where do you keep the soap for the dishwasher?  
  
Bottom left cupboard  
  


Patrick  
  
**Saturday** 2:31 PM  
Your mom is looking for an alligator skin bag?  
  
Top shelf of her closet, behind the hat box  
  


David  
  
**Saturday** 5:42 PM  
What does Rachel like on her pizza?  
  
Ham, mushrooms, green peppers  
  


Patrick  
  
**Sunday** 8:11 AM  
Do you own any normal clothes?  
  
You mean like your striking blue on blue ensembles?  
  
No.  
  


David  
  
**Sunday** 9:06 AM  
Do you seriously wash your face with this 2-in-1 face wash?  
  
Like, every day?  
  
My skin is radiant   
  


Stevie  
  
**Sunday** 12:46 PM  
Can I have David’s number?  
  
What for?  
  
I want to check up on him  
  
Oh, that’s nice. It’s (212) 555-0934  
  
And I want to talk about you  
  
Stevie!  
  


Patrick  
  
**Sunday** 1:14 PM  
Did your sister really get kidnapped by Somali pirates?  
  
Yeah, but I think they regretted it in the end  
  
Huh  
  


Patrick  
  
**Sunday** 1:32 PM  
I hope you’re ready to play in the hockey game today!  
  
I think we both know that’s not going to happen  
  


Patrick  
  
**Sunday** 8:01 PM  
Your mom says she hopes our texts are titillating. Are they titillating for you?  
  
What?  
  
And your dad says to be careful about people you meet on the internet  
  
Why does my family know about us?  
  
Alexis caught me texting, so I told her we met online  
  
I hope you realize what you’ve done  
  


Patrick  
  
**Monday** 8:12 AM  
I don’t understand your clothes, please send instructions  
  
It’s an aesthetic, not a formula  
  
Okay, but does your aesthetic have instructions  
  
I just realized that you’re wearing my clothes  
  
Yeah, I thought your family might notice if I was naked  
  
I’d need a photo to see for sure  
  
Anyway, one of my sweaters is worth more than your rent  
  
It’s probably not too late to go naked  
  


Stevie  
  
**Monday** 2:07 PM  
Patrick is nicer than you  
  
Everyone is nicer than me  
  
Except you  
  
I’m nicer than you  
  
I’m nicer than you  
  
Anyway, he’s too nice, when are you coming back  
  
I wish I knew  
  


Patrick  
  
**Monday** 4:13 PM  
Why did you order a life-sized emu?  
  
The store needs to portray a certain image  
  
It’s literally called Blouse Barn  
  
Wouldn’t a cow be more appropriate?  
  
I’m never speaking to you again  
  
Okay, David  
  


David  
  
**Monday** 11:43 PM  
We’re going to be stuck like this, aren’t we?  
  
I don’t know, maybe  
  
I’m glad it was you  
  
Me too  
  
Even though all your clothes are incorrect  
  
At least my clothes don’t require operating manuals  
  


David  
  
**Tuesday** 9:36 AM  
How do you do this job every day?  
  
Do you like it?  
  
I’ve never thought about it  
  
Okay?  
  
Is this what you always dreamed of doing?  
  
No  
  
I’d like to have my own business  
  
So why don’t you?  
  
I never had a good enough idea  
  
Oh. Sometimes I think I have too many ideas  
  


Stevie  
  
**Tuesday** 10:10 AM  
Did you know that Patrick offered to pay for my gas for driving him to work?  
  
Why would he do that?  
  
When you get back there will be a $10 per trip charge  
  
I thought you were my friend  
  
What difference does that make?  
  


Patrick  
  
**Tuesday** 2:22 PM  
What about you?  
  
What about me?  
  
What’s your dream?  
  
I’d like to have a store  
  
A general store  
  
But one that’s very specific, you know  
  
No, I don’t know what that means  
  


Patrick  
  
**Tuesday** 7:37 PM  
Tell me about your store idea  
  
Why do you care?  
  
Business ideas are kind of what I do  
  
Besides, your sister is telling some story about the Molson twins and I need a distraction  
  
Olson twins  
  
Oh, I wondered why she wasn’t talking about beer  
  
What?  
  
Nevermind. The store?  
  
I want to source local products and sell them under my brand  
  
I didn’t know you had a brand  
  
I don’t now. That’s what the store is for  
  
I see  
  
You don’t think it’s a good idea?  
  
No, I do, actually. But you’ll need some start-up money  
  
Oh, start-up money  
  


Jake  
  
**Wednesday** 2:23 PM  
I’m free tonight if you’re free  
  
Can’t tonight, sorry  
  
OK Next time  
  


Patrick  
  
**Wednesday** 4:54 PM  
So, about Jake  
  
What about him?  
  
What’s his deal?  
  
Jake likes Jake. And sex. Jake also likes sex.  
  
Oh  
  
Do you want to talk about it?  
  
Talk about what?  
  
I don’t know, you seem interested  
  
Just curious  
  
Okay  
  
Jake’s a great person to be curious with  
  
Good to know  
  



	3. Deep in the Heart of Me

It’s been five days. Patrick has figured out David’s hair and clothes but Alexis keeps asking if he’s feeling okay. Finally, he breaks down and asks Stevie for advice. 

“You’re too calm.” Stevie looks up from the book she’s reading behind the desk of the motel. He admires her commitment to doing as little work as possible, even as it makes him twitch a little.

“I’m sorry?” He’s been holding back his reactions to everything, not wanting to risk revealing himself.

“David’s not calm about anything. Try overreacting to everything and people will notice you less.”

“That sounds like terrible advice.” 

She shrugs at him and opens her book again. “You asked.”

It’s his day off, so he goes to the cafe and waits for Twyla to bring him a cup of tea. He’d tried David’s usual drink order on the first day and nearly gagged on the sweetness, so he’s been sticking to tea ever since. 

“David.” The voice is a low purr, almost a growl. He turns to find a tall, lanky man in a plaid shirt standing in front of him. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work on Friday.”

Before he can respond, the man cups a hand behind his head and he’s kissing him, almost possessively. He’s never been kissed like this. He’s kissed Rachel and a handful of other girls, but none of them made sparks shoot through his body the way that this does. His brain catches up to his body. Friday. This must be Jake.

“Uh...yeah...Friday, right.” His brain is still running two steps behind.

“How about we try again tonight?”

“Yeah, sure.” His mouth says the words before he can think about them.

“Great, I’ll pick you up at seven.” Jake squeezes his shoulder as Twyla brings his tea. He wraps both hands around the cup, mind racing. He’d planned to take the tea to go, but he sinks onto one of the stools at the counter. He pulls out his phone to text David.

Patrick  
  
**Thursday** 10:14 AM  
I think I just agreed to go out with Jake  
  


There’s no response. A jolt of panic rushes through him. This is probably a mistake. But underneath the panic is a thrill of excitement. Thoughts that he’s pushed away for years bubble to the surface. He could kiss Jake again. And maybe do more than that. He probably shouldn’t be doing that in David’s body. But he wants to. He wants to so badly.

David  
  
**Thursday** 10:21 AM  
Are you sure you want to do that?  
  
Jake doesn’t really go ‘out’ if you know what I mean  
  
I’m not sure of anything right now  
  
Okay?  
  


It shouldn’t be possible to have everything in his life change in such a short time but living as David for the past few days has made him realize how much of his life is broken. And, it’s given him an inkling why. He laughs wryly to himself. All it has taken is being catapulted into someone else’s life for him to examine the thoughts and feelings that he’s pushed away for his entire life. All the same, it doesn’t seem fair to David to take advantage of the situation.

Patrick  
  
**Thursday** 10:33 AM  
I shouldn’t go. It’s not fair to you.  
  
It’s fine. If you want to. I don’t mind.  
  


He thinks about everything he’s been hiding for so long. About Tim, from his baseball team, and how the sleeves of his uniform stretched so tightly around his biceps. Or Manuel from the drama club, who wore eyeliner and who he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for three months. And Josh, who’d been in his study group for Economics 101 at university, who had invited him for drinks and who’d seemed weirdly taken aback when Patrick had shaken his hand at the end of the evening.

He doesn’t know what he wants. Kissing Jake again or doing something more is exciting and new. “What if I’m gay?” He mutters the words to himself before looking around the cafe. Thankfully, Twyla is busy at the far end of the counter. “I think I’m gay.” He rolls the words around in his mouth. They’re scary but comfortable, the culmination of something he’s wanted to think about for a long time but has been afraid to ponder. 

“I’m gay.” 

***

“This isn’t working.” The Great Canadian Baking Show is coming on in five minutes and he doesn’t want to miss the cold open with the cute hosts but the configuration of Patrick’s TV system has him baffled. In the doorway of the living room, Rachel’s face goes through a series of contortions, anger, sadness before settling on relief. It seems like an extreme reaction to a TV show, but he hasn’t been able to get a handle on Rachel since he tumbled into Patrick’s body five days ago.

“Patrick…” She sits on the edge of the sofa, perched like a small bird that hasn’t learned how to fly. She exhales, her hands clenching her knees. “It’s not working for me either.”

“We should call—” Oh. They’re not talking about the TV. Dread settles in his stomach, an old, unwelcome friend. He’s just accidentally broken up with Patrick’s girlfriend of fifteen years. “That wasn’t what I—”

“We can’t go on like this.” Rachel’s eyes are bright as she interrupts him. “I keep thinking it will be like it was when we were kids, but it’s not. I miss being friends and I don’t think we can be friends if we keep going on like this.”

“Yeah.” How is Patrick going to react to this unexpected change in his life? From their text conversations, he knows that Patrick is unhappy, but is he this unhappy? He pulls his attention back to the woman in front of him, she’s crying now, just a little. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” She wraps her arms around him, crying into his shoulder. He hesitates for a second before holding her tightly. “This doesn’t mean you can get rid of me, you know.” She pulls back to look at him. “We just need to try something different.”

He can see why Patrick has stayed with Rachel as long as he did. If anyone he’d ever dated had been as nice as Rachel, he would have held on to them. “I’ll, um…” He’s not sure what he’s going to do now. “I’ll stay with my parents?”

“Okay.” She sniffs, her face is red and blotchy. He wants to tell her to put some eye cream on before her eyes get puffy, but Patrick probably doesn’t even know that eye cream exists. In the bedroom, he opens the closet and sits on the edge of the bed. All of Patrick’s clothes are the same, so it doesn’t matter what he packs. He pulls out his phone, trying to decide what to say to Patrick. Before he can draft a text, the phone buzzes in his hand.

Patrick  
  
**Thursday** 10:14 AM  
I think I just agreed to go out with Jake  
  


He’s not sure how he feels about Patrick hooking up with Jake. Something about it makes him uneasy but he can’t decide why. At first he thinks it’s Patrick taking his body out for a spin, but he’s already slept with Jake; he doesn’t really care if it happens again. He briefly considers the idea that it’s unfair to Jake, to not know that it’s Patrick, not David, who he’d be fucking, but he knows Jake wouldn’t care. He doesn’t like Patrick experimenting with someone like Jake, who won’t care about him. If I were there, he could experiment with me, he thinks, before he can consider the implications of that thought.

He hopes that going out with Jake isn’t more than Patrick bargains for. Not that Jake is cruel or inattentive, but his expectations are probably more than Patrick is anticipating. Still, if Patrick wants to take this opportunity to experiment, David would rather he did it with Jake than with some stranger. 

He waits to see if Patrick will text him again about Jake. He has to tell him about Rachel, but he’s not sure where to begin. He doesn’t want Patrick to freak out. How can he not freak out? Some other person has ended a relationship that he’s been in since he was a teenager. Patrick might never forgive him. The thought brings him up short. The idea of Patrick never speaking to him again hurts, an unanticipated shot to the heart. Before he can talk himself out of it, he texts Patrick.

David  
  
**Thursday** 10:54 AM  
I need to tell you something but you can’t freak out.  
  
I did something bad. Or maybe it’s good. Either way, I want you to know it was an accident.  
  
David?  
  
I broke up with Rachel  
  
But it was an accident, I swear  
  
What?  
  


Oh god, Patrick’s angry with him. There’s an empty duffle bag in Patrick’s closet. He pulls it out and packs some of Patrick’s jeans and sweaters into the bag. He jumps when Patrick’s cell rings in his hand.

“What happened?” Hearing his own voice on the other end of the phone is disorienting, especially since he doesn’t think he’s ever sounded so soft. 

“I...uh, said things weren’t working. But I meant the TV!” He can keep from being annoyed by the entire situation. If Patrick had just had a normal TV setup, none of this would have happened. “And then she said it wasn’t working for her either and, well, things just kind of ended.”

There’s a long silence on the phone and then...is Patrick laughing? “Are you okay?” The laughter bubbles through the phone. It’s helpless, almost hysterical. Patrick shouldn’t be laughing. No one laughs when their relationship ends. “I’m so sorry. I should never have…”

The laughter dies out and Patrick makes a final wheezing sound before he speaks. “I think I’m relieved. I think you did me a favor.”

“Oh. Okay.” This is very weird. Texting with Patrick has become normal, natural. But hearing his own voice through the phone feels wrong, like he’s talking to himself. “Are you going to see Jake?” 

The pause is longer this time. “Uh…”

“You should. If you want to.” He wants Patrick to have whatever experience he wants even if he can’t be the one to give it to him. 

“Maybe? I don’t know. I just got out of a long-term relationship.” His voice is amused, teasing, and the anxiety David has been holding about Rachel unfurls.

“Very funny. Look, I don’t know what sort of experiment you’re interested in, but Jake’s good in bed. He’d make it fun.” For the second time in as many minutes he wishes they were together so he could be the one to have fun with Patrick. 

Patrick clears his throat and changes the subject. “What about you? Are you going to be okay? There’s money for a hotel if you need one.”

“I thought I’d stay with your parents.” Maybe he shouldn’t expect to stay with Clint and Marcy. Maybe Patrick’s offer of a hotel means that he’s made a mistake. Patrick’s voice reassures him.

“Yeah, okay. I wasn’t sure you’d want to do that.”

“It’s fine. I like them.” He adds some of Patrick’s button-down shirts to the bag. He hears a noise in the hall. “I have to go. Maybe we can talk again later?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” 

He hangs up the phone just as Rachel comes into the room. Her eyes are red and she’s carrying a guitar case. “We can figure everything else out later, but I knew you wouldn’t want to leave this.” 

“Thanks.” Presumably, Patrick will want the guitar so he takes the case from her, it’s heavier than he expects. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.” Without warning, she hugs him. He wraps his free arm around her, patting her shoulder awkwardly. 

“I’ll just, uh, I’ll just go, then.” He gathers up the duffel and the guitar. Patrick’s keys are sitting in the little bowl on the kitchen counter. Picking them up, he opens the front door, stopping to look back one last time. It’s not his apartment and he’s lived here less than a week. Still, it makes him sad to think his disastrous relationship history has reached into Patrick’s life. With a sigh, he closes the door firmly behind him and heads to Patrick’s parents’ house.

***

Patrick hangs up the phone and sinks onto David’s bed in the motel. His relationship of fifteen years is over and he wasn’t even there when it ended. He’s sad and relieved and elated. He laughs again, giddiness bubbling out of him. He’d agonized about breaking up with Rachel, caught up in trying to find the right time, the right set of words and somehow David has broken up with her almost by accident.

He checks his phone. Jake will be here in half an hour. He should text him and cancel. His finger hovers over Jake’s name in David’s contacts. Instead, he puts down the phone and goes to look in the mirror. David’s dark eyes stare back at him. How would it feel to have those eyes look back at him in real life? Would they be hot and intense or soft and tender? He checks the time again. It’s a quarter to seven, too late to text Jake now. He looks back at the mirror forcing confidence up from deep inside him. “You’ve got this,” he mutters at his reflection. “Just fake it until you make it.”

He’s watching out the window when Jake’s red truck pulls up in front of the motel. Before the other man can get out of the truck, he crosses the lawn to stand beside the driver’s door, phone clasped in one hand. Jake puts the truck into park. 

“David. You look good.” With his free hand he tugs Patrick’s head down to his, kissing him fully on the lips. Jake’s tongue strokes at Patrick’s lower lip and his lips part. He sighs as the kiss deepens, Jake’s fingers are tight on the back of his neck, his mouth is eager and wet. He steadies himself on the open window as Jake breaks the kiss. 

“I thought we’d head to my place. Unless…?” Jake nods towards the motel.

Doing whatever they’re about to do in a motel room that he shares with David’s sister sends a shudder through him. “No, that’s, uh, that’s good.” On the other side of the truck, he opens the passenger side door, it makes a loud creaking noise as he wrenches it open.

Jake doesn’t say anything as they back out of the motel parking lot. Patrick gets the impression that conversation isn’t Jake’s main interest and he’s happy to let anticipation course through him as he thinks about what will happen next. 

Jake’s place turns out to be a short distance away. Inside a small studio apartment is combined with a wood shop. He stands uneasily inside the door, twisting at one of David’s rings. 

“Have a seat.” There aren’t any chairs and Jake gestures at the bed. Patrick approaches it gingerly, and perches on the edge, as apprehension about what’s going to happen settles around him. “Do you want a drink?”

Maybe a drink will take the edge off. He nods, not able to find the words and Jake presses a glass of whiskey into his hands. He takes a large gulp as Jake runs a hand up his back, caressing the back of his neck with one large hand. He’s barely finished the drink when Jake takes the empty glass from his hand and places it on the floor. Before he can register what’s happening, Jake is kissing him, slow and insistent. 

It’s different from what he’s used to. The scratch of Jake’s stubble against his skin sends little shocks through him. Jake’s larger body presses him backwards and he shivers at the feel of being held down by the heavy weight of him. He rests his hands on Jake’s hips and Jake rocks forward, forcing a gasp from his lips. 

He’s in too deep. He wants to dive deeper, to see if he can find the bottom but he pulls back. “I can’t do this.” He struggles to sit up, trying to clear his head. His body wants to lie back down to let Jake finish what he started but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s wrong to use David’s body like this.

“Okay, man.” Jake shrugs, ambivalent. His hand is still on the back of Patrick’s neck and he uses it to pull Patrick towards him again. This kiss is even more intense than the last as though Jake wants to make him regret his decision. Jake’s tongue is in his mouth, his fingers scratching the short hair on the back of his neck. His knees feel weak and he grasps the edge of the bed to keep his balance. Abruptly, Jake lets him go. He staggers to his feet, he can feel the heat in his cheeks. “Catch you next time.”

Outside, he stops for a moment before starting the walk back to the motel. He can still feel the press of Jake’s mouth, hot and demanding. Kissing Jake was completely different from kissing Rachel. He wants to do it again. Maybe not with Jake, but with another man. Maybe with someone like David, a voice inside him suggests. The situation they’re in is too strange for him to think about that thought for too long. Instead, he heads back inside the motel, laying back on the bed. 

While he’s waiting for David to text him, he pulls out his phone and flips through his apps, opening his photos folder. He’s not sure what he’s looking for other than a brief glimpse into who David is, a chance to feel closer to him. Everything is neatly organized, folders labelled ‘Clothes’ and ‘Store’ and ‘Family.’ He opens the one labelled ‘Store’ to find a collection of photos of different local products, interior displays, logo designs. He remembers the sketch in David’s journal, he can see the potential, with the right business plan, it could come to life. He flips through more folders, at the very end of the list is a folder labelled ‘Me.’ 

The first photos are pictures of David, each one a portrait of a different black and white outfit. He recognizes most of the looks from David’s closet, but there’s something about the way David is standing or the look on his face that is so different from what Patrick sees when he looks in the mirror. There’s a ‘fuck you’ attitude to David Rose that Patrick doesn’t think he could ever pull off. It’s not the look of someone who necessarily likes what he sees, but without question, David Rose knows exactly who he is.

His own vision of who he is feels cloudy, shaped by other people. He’s his parents’ son, Rachel’s boyfriend, the catcher on the baseball team, the smart guy at work, the guy who pays his bills on time and makes plans to cover up his uncertainty. He’s lived his whole life trying to blend in and for once he wants to stand out. David has given him that, he thinks. People see him now. Or at least, they see David. 

He flips through more of the photos, the black-and-white clothing passing in a blur. He scrolls past the photo before he flips back to find it again. Buried amid the others is a full-length nude selfie of David. It’s stupid to be turned on by a photo of a body that he’s inhabiting, but his breath catches anyway. David is a few years younger and thinner, his free hand is loosely gripping his erect cock. He’s breathtaking and Patrick can’t stop staring at the photo. 

He blushes when the phone buzzes in his hand.

David  
  
**Thursday** 9:15 PM  
Your mom is worried about you  
  
I think for the first time she doesn’t have anything to worry about  
  


He knows himself better now than he did a week ago. He’d been living a life that he’d thought was cast in stone, a paved pathway running ahead of him through time that he’d been unable to deviate from. But living as David has made him understand himself in a way that he’d never thought possible.

David  
  
**Thursday** 9:19 PM  
That’s ironic, considering you’re actually me right now  
  
Being you has made a lot of things clear to me  
  


For the first time since he’d woken up in David’s body, he wants to go home. He wants to change things in his life, to make his peace with Rachel and then he wants to see what’s out there.

Patrick  
  
**Thursday** 9:24 PM  
Thank you David  
  
For what?  
  


He’s not sure it can put it into a text. It’s not that living David’s life has shown him what was wrong with his own life, it’s more that he sees the possibilities for the first time.

Patrick  
  
**Thursday** 9:28 PM  
For being you  
  
That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that  
  


***

David stands on the doorstep, guitar in one hand, duffel bag at his feet. Should he ring the doorbell? Rachel hadn’t rung the bell when they’d visited the other day. But they aren't expecting him this time. Patrick probably grew up in this house; he probably doesn’t ring the doorbell. But it feels weird to just walk in. Before he can agonize any further, Marcy opens the door. 

“Patrick?” She looks down at the guitar. “Oh, honey…” She hugs him tightly, her smaller form somehow engulfing him. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you.” He whispers the words, not sure what to make of this soft, understanding woman who knows what happened without making him say it. 

“Why don’t you take your things upstairs and I’ll make some tea.” She pats him on the arm and disappears into the kitchen. He stops at the top of the stairs, the first two doors are Clint and Marcy’s room and a bathroom. He looks in the next doorway, a row of sports trophies sparkle back at him from above a bed dressed in a blue bedspread. He sets the guitar and his bag by the door and sits on the edge of the bed. 

He puts his head in his hands. Any sense of adventure that he’s had from taking over Patrick’s life has faded. He misses his family. He misses the annoyance of having to share a room with his sister, even if it means having to listen to her share way too much information about her relationship with Mutt. He misses his mom, her eye for fashion and disdain for the town and he even misses his dad, slightly out of sync with the rest of them as always.

With a sigh, he makes his way downstairs to the kitchen. As promised, Marcy has made tea. An ugly brown ceramic teapot sits beside three practical blue mugs. A plate of cookies accompanies them, making his mouth water. 

From his seat at the kitchen table, Clint puts down his tablet and takes a cup from Marcy. “Did you and Rachel have another fight?” _Another_ fight? How often had Patrick repeated this journey, back and forth from his apartment to his parents’ house, guitar in hand?

“Uh, I don’t know if it was a fight exactly.” 

He braces himself for recriminations or accusations that he’s screwed up something good with Rachel. Instead, Marcy smiles at him sympathetically and hands him a cup of tea, the saucer rattles lightly as she sets it down. “Well, I’m sure you two will work it out.”

“Yeah.” He hopes Patrick will be the one to work out anything that gets to be worked out. He’s not sure his underdeveloped relationship skills are up to navigating the intricacies of someone else’s fifteen year relationship.

Marcy passes him the plate of cookies. “Your dad and I were thinking we might remodel the kitchen this summer.” 

David looks at the dated decor. The cabinets are honey-colored oak with brass hardware. The white melamine on the counter is chipped in two places and the patterned tiles behind the sink are awful and outdated. “That’s a great idea! You could put in some painted dove grey cabinets and some white subway tile on the backsplash. And the floors could be dark…” He pulls his hands back into his lap at the surprised look on Marcy’s face. “If you wanted.”

“I didn’t know you were interested, honey.”

“Uh, there’s just lots of potential, is all.” Patrick is probably not interested in kitchen remodels. 

“Here’s what I was thinking.” Marcy pulls up a picture on her phone. He’s not surprised to see that blue is the dominant color, with slate blue cabinets and white walls and countertops. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Well, I know your dad will appreciate the help when it comes time to tear out the old cabinets.” She laughs at Clint, who smiles back at her. 

He tries to chuckle knowingly. His experience with home renovation involved calling a contractor and telling them what he wanted. Marcy moves on to tell a story about a baseball game and a slew of cousins that David can’t quite track. He can tell she’s trying to fill the space with conversation, so he lets his thoughts wander, trying to nod at the right places. 

He likes Patrick’s parents. If someone had asked him before now he would have said that people like Clint and Marcy were fictional; characters created for television shows. But here was this gentle, kind woman who loves Patrick with her whole heart, even as she worries about him. And she is worried. He can tell by the soft glances she gives him now and then, a little crease between her eyebrows. 

Eventually, Marcy runs out of relatives to talk about and silence descends over the kitchen. The three of them stare at each other awkwardly. He’s exhausted, but more than that, he wants to be alone, to gather his thoughts, to text Patrick.

“Well, uh, goodnight.” He puts his empty cup in the dishwasher. Before he can leave the room, Marcy hugs him again, holding him tightly as though she’s worried he might vanish. 

“Goodnight, honey.”

Back in Patrick’s room, he flops down on the bed. It’s obvious that Clint and Marcy use the room mostly as an office. It contains an inelegant mishmash of Patrick’s childhood mementos and binders labelled ‘2010 Taxes’ and ‘Utility Bills.’ He texts Patrick.

David  
  
**Thursday** 9:15 PM  
Your mom is worried about you  
  
And your cousin Kyle is out of something at third base?  
  


For a brief second, he thinks about telling Marcy about the body switch with Patrick. Then maybe she would worry about him and try to make things better with hugs and tea.

Patrick  
  
**Thursday** 9:17 PM  
I think for the first time she doesn’t have anything to worry about  
  


David thinks they have lots of things to worry about. Like if they will ever get back to where they’re supposed to be. He thinks about Rachel and about how you can still love someone even when things are broken. He kicks off his shoes and wraps himself in Patrick’s comforter. He can see Patrick is typing something, the three little dots flashing over and over. Finally, his response comes through.

Patrick  
  
**Thursday** 9:31 PM  
When this is over, I want to see you  
  


He’s not prepared for the flush of emotion that runs through him. There’s no reason for them to meet once they have their lives back. It’s not like they have anything in common.

David  
  
**Thursday** 9:35 PM  
Do you think that’s a good idea?  
  
I don’t care  
  


He wants to go home. It is home; he realizes. The horrid motel has turned into something more than he ever thought it could, a place where he’s come to know his family and maybe even himself. It’s cozy wrapped up in the blanket and his eyes are drifting closed. Before he can fall asleep, he sends one last text to Patrick.

David  
  
**Thursday** 9:43 PM  
Goodnight, Patrick  
  


***

When Patrick wakes up, something is wrapped tightly around him. He opens his eyes, all he can see is a swath of blue cloth that’s obscuring his vision. These aren’t David’s sheets. He disentangles one hand enough to pull the comforter away from his face. His Little League baseball trophies stare back at him from across the room.

He’s back. In his own body. In his own life. Yet somehow, everything is different. He rolls over to look at the ceiling. He can see the mark from where he threw his baseball too hard when he was ten and damaged the paint. Something hard is digging into his hip. He reaches down and extracts his phone, David must have been holding it when he fell asleep. 

It’s just before seven o’clock. In the distance, he can hear his parents in the kitchen, the rise and fall of their voices accompanied by the faint rattle of dishes. He knows it’s too early for David, but he sends a text anyway.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 6:43 AM  
Did you make it back okay?  
  


He changes into clean clothes and heads downstairs, whistling under his breath. Both his parents look up as he comes into the kitchen.

“Patrick. Are you okay?” His mom frowns at him. She’s partway through the morning crossword, filling out her answers in ink, as usual. “You’re not upset about Rachel?”

Rachel. He should be upset about Rachel. Instead, he feels freer than he ever has. He has to tell them. For a second he considers keeping it locked inside, the way he would have done before. The way David never would. “I...I’m gay.” He doesn’t mean to blurt out the words like that, but they bubble out before he can stop them, before he can think about what they mean or how his parents might react.

“What?” His dad puts down his fork as he and his mom speak at the same time. 

His mom’s voice is a couple of octaves higher than normal. “Honey?”

“Uh…” He wishes for some of David’s confidence, the way he knows who he is. He reaches for some of the courage that he’d felt when Jake had kissed him. “Yeah. I hope you’re okay with that because I’ve been trying to hide it and I don’t think it’s working.” He laughs, a little hysterically.

“Oh, honey.” Before he can move his mom is out of her chair, wrapping her arms around him. “We just want you to be happy.” His mom holds him even tighter, refusing to let go. He hugs her back, over her shoulder his dad is smiling at them both. 

“Mom.” He steps away, smiling at the look on her face. “I have to go to work.”

“Okay, honey.” She wipes her eyes. “We just love you so much.”

“I know. I love you too.”

He checks his phone before he drives to work, but there’s no response from David. Anxious, he sends another text.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 8:54 AM  
David?  
  


He waits for a minute, but there’s nothing. What if something happened to David? He feels sick at the thought.

Back in his office, it doesn’t look as though David has touched any of his files in the past week. It’s just as well. He’d rather make excuses for being late than have to redo a bunch of work. There’s still no text from David, so he sends another message.

Patrick  
  
**Friday** 9:17 AM  
At least let me know you’re okay  
  


Hours later, there’s still no response.

***

David steps back into his life as though he’d never left. He tries to put Patrick behind him and accept that they won’t see each other again, pushing thoughts of him to the back of his mind. He spends two days reorganizing his clothes. It can’t possibly be the case, but he swears he can smell a hint of Patrick’s aftershave as he folds each sweater, a distant memory of another time and place. Other than Stevie, no one appears to notice anything different although Alexis tells him she’s happy he’s feeling better. Patrick texts a few times over the first couple of days. David ignores them. It’s better if he doesn’t respond, if they both just forget everything that’s happened. 

“So what was it like?” Stevie stares at him from the other side of the booth at the cafe.

“It was fine.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. Doesn’t want to think about how tightly Marcy had hugged him or how Rachel had cried into his shoulder.

“Just fine?” Stevie reaches for his fries and he inches his plate away from her.

“His family was really nice. Normal. Not like you and I.” He takes another bite of his sandwich. “I accidentally broke up with his girlfriend.”

“Good to know your disastrous dating history is replicable in any circumstance.” He grimaces at her but before he can respond his phone buzzes on the table.

Patrick  
  
**Saturday** 11:11 AM  
You can’t ignore me forever  
  


Stevie nods towards the phone. “What’s going on?”

“Patrick’s been texting me ever since...well...you know.” If he’s honest, he misses their text conversations, but it’s better this way. He’d rather have this soft regretful hurt than the sharper pain of rejection that he knows would eventually come.

“And?” Stevie is giving that look that she uses when she suspects he’s doing something particularly stupid.

“And there’s no point. He lives a million miles away, it’s not like we will ever meet.” It’s too far away. Maybe if he still had money and private jets at his disposal but they don’t even have a car.

“You’re an idiot.” Before he can object, Stevie finishes the last of his fries. 

“Were you this nice to Patrick?” She’s not one to sugarcoat things, but he knows she saves a special level of derision for him.

“Nicer.” 

He scowls at her as he slides out of the booth. “As always, it’s been a pleasure.”

Leaving Stevie at the cafe, he trudges back to the motel. He spots the familiar figure as soon as he turns into the driveway of the motel. He’s leaning against his car, the shirt sleeves of his blue shirt are rolled up, exposing his forearms. He holds himself differently than David did, his shoulders square and relaxed. David resists the urge to turn around and go back to the cafe. He comes to a stop in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

Patrick smirks at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He looks at him expectantly, his arms crossed on his chest.

“You didn’t answer my texts.” Patrick’s eyes are warmer than he remembers. Like honey or worn leather. 

“You came all this way because I didn’t answer your texts?” He tries to be annoyed, but he can’t remember the last time someone went so far out of their way to see him.

“Nope.” Patrick smirks at him again. It’s cute and infuriating. “I came here to do this.” Before he can respond, Patrick’s hand grasps the back of his neck and Patrick is kissing him, leaving no room for doubt about what his intentions are. 

The kiss unknots something inside him; he wants to curl up in Patrick’s arms and bury his face in his shoulder. Patrick’s hand squeezes the back of his neck before he lets David go and opens the door of the car, emerging with a document that he hands to David.

“What’s this?” The kiss is less surprising than whatever this is. He’s been kissed before by a variety of people in a variety of circumstances. No one has ever followed it up with a project proposal.

“It’s a business plan.” Patrick says it as though it’s obvious. Or perhaps he roams the countryside, distributing business plans to random strangers.

“Okay?” He’s still confused, but he flips it open, scanning the table of contents.

“It’s a good idea, your business. I want to help make it happen.”

A paragraph in the middle of the first page catches his attention. _...the store will curate a selection of products from local vendors and sell them on consignment…_ He raises his eyes to meet Patrick’s. “I...it was just an idea.”

“Now it’s an idea with a business plan.” Patrick is so confident it’s almost cocky. It’s sexy as hell and David wants to kiss him again. Patrick’s soft brown eyes haven’t left his and a smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. He steps forward into David’s space, resting his hands on his shoulders, the papers crinkle between them. “You know what I learned from living your life?” He shakes his head mutely, not sure what lesson Patrick has taken from his fucked-up life. “I learned that I need to take more chances.”

Patrick kisses him then, and there’s a challenge humming beneath the press of his lips. “This is me, taking a chance on you, David Rose.”

He closes his eyes and leans into the kiss. He thinks about how much Clint and Marcy love Patrick, about Rachel. Patrick trusts the people in his life. Maybe he can try to do the same. “Yes, okay, yes.” He kisses Patrick again. He never wants to stop kissing Patrick. “There’s just one thing.”

“Hmm?” Patrick runs his nose along the edge of his jaw, making his breath catch.

“You’re never allowed to touch my clothes again.”

***

There’s a fucking line outside. The anticipation buzzes inside him, making David feel like he could jump out of his skin. He winces to himself at the turn of phrase, looking across the store to where Patrick is giving a last polish to the wooden countertop. At least if he accidentally trades bodies with Patrick again, they’ll be in the same room. 

Like always, Patrick senses him watching and looks up, a smile turning the corners of his mouth up. “Are we ready to do this?”

“No.” Before Patrick can protest, he crosses the room to join him behind the counter, pressing him against the corner of the counter, using his larger frame to pin Patrick in place. His boyfriend sighs, a ripple of pleasure and desire running through him and his hands come up to rest on David’s hips. 

“It’s probably not a good start to delay our opening just so we can make out.” Patrick’s hands betray his words and he tugs David closer.

“Don’t care.” He kisses Patrick, softly at first and then more urgently, his tongue teasing against Patrick’s lips. “We’ve got ten minutes, that’s more than enough time.” He grinds against Patrick and his hands clench on his hips. 

“There are 75 people right outside that door.” Patrick murmurs the words through clenched teeth. 

“Mmm.” He rolls his hips again, just to hear Patrick moan. He presses a final chaste kiss to Patrick’s lips. “Later.”

He gives the room a final inspection. Every product is in place, the light through the front windows lights up the space. For the first time since he’s been forced to live in this town, he’s not thinking about how he can escape. He smiles at Patrick and turns to unlock the door. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.


End file.
